64

Hoth and his twelve thugs, all in black local police uniforms, briskly burst through the green doors and hurried down the gray carpet of the windowless corridor, lit by the dull light from the long lamps in the ceiling. Hot, shaved and trimmed, holding his hands on his belt, famously pulling his cap over his eyebrows, with an impudent smile loudly, laughing, addressed the dumbfounded three girls at the reception:

- So, girls, get up, go out, line up at the wall - we prepare passports, medical books, - and looking down the stairs, he shouted to the guys in loincloths, - the boys are also going out to build, here, to the wall. Citizenship, registration, work permit?

Former Antinarkom fighters stood up, some at the front door, some at the reception desk, the rest scattered - rummaging through tables, cabinets, refrigerators, tapping walls, looking under carpets, behind cabinets. The three of them went down the stairs with Hot to the black guys who were standing at the door to the basemen
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